


Used

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Bondage, Bottom Dean, Come Shot, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt No Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Rape/Non-con Elements, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 21:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11722992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: John uses Dean as bate for a warlock who prays on young, feminine boys.  Things don't work out as planned, and Dean soon finds himself restrained and taken advantage of.





	Used

Dean didn't know how he'd found himself in this position.

Well. Alright, he kind of did.

It had been a standard sort of plan: John had drafted him as bait, which wasn't unusual. Dean told himself it made perfect sense: this was, after all, a warlock who preyed almost exclusively on young, feminine men between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five. Dean was twenty-one, and though not effeminate by any means, was certainly pretty enough to meet the warlock's preferences.

Dean had spotted the warlock in a bar. He was unusual, for a witch: most of them were all sleek suits and neatly coiffed hair. This one was a stereotypical burly trucker, a bear if Dean had ever seen one, with a big hairy belly that protruded over the waist of his jeans and bulging, tattooed biceps. If Dean hadn't recognized the occult symbols of the tats, he wouldn't have guessed the man was a warlock at all.

A little flirting had been all it took to get the warlock back to his motel room, where John was waiting with the gun and the witch killing-bullets. 

Unfortunately, the warlock had been a little too prepared.

The minute the lights went on and John lunged, he'd been flung back against the wall with such force that it had knocked him unconscious. 

Dean, trying not to panic, had gone for John's gun, but the warlock was powerful: he'd used his powers to calmly pin Dean to the wall and hold him there while he tied the still-unconscious John to a chair and gag him securely.

“You really think I didn't know you were a hunter, son?” said the warlock, smiling pleasantly at Dean as he relieved his father of his weapons. “Well, I reckon you're not a hunter, per se. You act like one, you dress like one, but you're still just daddy's little girl, playin' dress up.”

Dean glared at him, jaw held shut by the warlock's power, and rendering him unable to defend himself. 

“But I could smell your daddy on you a mile away,” the warlock continued. “I knew what I was walkin' into. Decided to anyway, though,” he added with a wink. “You're just too sweet a ride to pass up.”

Dean paled at the implications and renewed his useless struggles, making the warlock chuckle.

This was how Dean found himself with his legs bound to the headboard over his shoulders and hands cuffed underneath him, body doubled in two and totally naked.

The wet squelch of the warlock's lubed-up fingers sliding in and out of his loosened hole, free hand continuously squeezing and stroking over the soft, freckled globes of his ass, was almost as unbearable as the sensations themselves.

Dean stared at his aching prick, face red with mortification at his position, at the fact that he was hard, at the fact that the still-sporadically struggling and grunting John was conscious to see all of it.

To be fair, the warlock had been at it for almost an hour, taking his time fingering Dean open, skillfully stimulating a sweet spot Dean hadn't known he had.

At this point, he was focusing all his energy on trying not to come. To do that on this dick's fingers would be a final indignity that he wasn't completely sure he could recover from.

Now, if only the bastard would stop talking. 

“You gonna blow that sweet load for me, pretty baby?” the warlock grinned, teeth nicotine yellow and inches from Dean's face.

Dean scrunched his eyes shut and shook his head defiantly, even as the warlock's thick fingertips skillfully massaged his prostate and his dick oozed against his belly. The gag kept him from answering even if he'd wanted to. 

“Oh yeah, I think you are,” the warlock chuckled. His fingers briefly withdrew, leaving Dean's poor hole empty and fluttering. “I think you're gonna blow all over your own pretty face, just for your daddy,” the warlock continued, squirting more lube onto his fingers before slipping them wetly back inside. Leaning in close, close enough for Dean to smell the residual beer on the warlock's breath, he whispered, “And I think your gonna love it.” 

Dean thumped his head back and keened, both in frustration at his helplessness and at the renewed stimulation to his prostate. Part of him knew it was futile, that the stimulation was bound to make him come sooner or later (at this rate, probably sooner), but his mind railed against the concept. 

He couldn't bring himself to look at John, even though he was directly in Dean's spectrum of vision. The warlock had made certain of that. 

“Pretty little thing,” the warlock grunted, arousal thick in his voice. Dean couldn't see, but he sensed he was palming himself through his own jeans. “You got an ass made for this, girl. Little hole was made to take my fingers, made to take cock. You ever take a cock before, boy?”

Dean had, but only in his mouth or hands. Mostly, it had been for money: when John was nowhere to be found and food was scarce, there were times when it was his only option. The key word being mostly.

He'd let guys his own age jack him off and give him blowjobs too before, which he told himself didn't count. Lots of guys let their friends jerk them off. It was only gay if it was anal. 

That was Dean's reasoning, anyway.

The warlock must have somehow sensed his train of thought, because grin widened. “I bet you did, didn't you? Bet you spent a lot of time on your knees, sucking off your little friends or your daddy's poker buddies. Bet your a regular little cock slut.” 

The fingers inside him sped up, rubbing faster, firmer. “But I got your cherry, didn't I? Nobodies ever been in your ass before, have they?”

Dean could only throw his head back as a keen wrenched itself from his throat.

“Well, that's gonna change now, ain't it?” the warlock continued, voice breathless. Dean could see the warlock's other arm working, and he sensed he was jerking himself off. “I'm gonna make you come untouched, little girl. Milk an orgasm straight from your sweet little pussy. And you're gonna be a regular little slut for it from now on, ain't ya, now that you know how good it feels?”

Dean shook his head in denial, even as some corner of his mind acknowledged the truth behind these words.

“Yes you are,” grinned the warlock. “Boy, what I wouldn't give to see you spread out on a pool-table, hands workin' your pretty little nipples, your cock, your sweet little hole. Using you, one after another, till you're all covered with jizz. You'd like that, wouldn't you, little girl? Pretty little whores like you were made to be used.” 

Dean couldn't even protest as his hips began jerking in aborted, unconscious thrusts, his poor, untouched prick so hard and red it hurt, pulsing forlornly against his belly.

“I bet you'd like to be bent over, taken like the little slut you are by one man after another, till you're loose and gaping like an old whore,” the warlock rambled on, breathing getting erratic. “I bet you'd like to be taken from both ends till your little belly's bulging with cum, leaking out of your little hole for god knows how long. Knew ever since I first saw you you were made to be fucked; you even walk like you've been fucked, with your little bowlegs. Knew you were made for this, slut. Knew you were made to be used like a whore.”

Finally, Dean couldn't take it anymore. He shook his head and keened as he felt his balls tighten, felt his neglected cock jerk one last time as an orgasm was forced from him, spurting out in ropes and coating his chest, his belly, his jaw with his own hot cum. Dean's back arched as best as it could in his doubled over position, eyes rolling back into his skull.

He didn't even realize he'd briefly blacked out till he came to to the sound of the warlock jacking his own colossal member, now positioned over Dean, lust still dark in his eyes.

Dean didn't have time to offer his feeble protest before he found himself coated in the warlock's wet cum, clinging to his hair and eyelashes.

The warlock made a small, satisfied noise as he tucked himself away back into his pants. He smiled down at Dean, fondly and pleasantly as though he were an old friend and not the man he'd just raped. 

Dean averted his eyes, face once again growing hot as he fully realized what had just happened, what he'd just done. 

“I was gonna kill you after this,” said the warlock casually, climbing off of the bed. He strolled over to where he'd stached John's weapons, and Dean felt a fresh flash of panic as the warlock returned with a hunting knife. “But, your such a sweet little piece of ass, I feel like that would be a waste.”

In Dean's peripheral vision, he saw the hunting knife dropped onto the bed, just within reach of his bound hands. 

“Reckon that'll be all you need to cut yourself loose,” the warlock surmised. “Now, I'm gonna give you an ultimatum: if you and your daddy leave town, and I never see the two of you here again, you get to live. Next time, I ain't gonna be so generous.” 

He began a slow, stroll towards the door, ignoring John's muffled curses and renewed struggling. Once there, he paused before opening it. “You, on the other hand,” he added, addressing Dean. “Are welcome to come find me alone. Your a sweet find, kid. And I reckon you might need another lesson in the near future.”

The warlock punctuated the grin with a wink that made Dean's ears heat up, somehow reminding him of his current, undignified position.

He lowered his gaze as the door opened and closed with a soft click, and the warlock made his departure.

…

Thirty minutes later, Dean – now clad in his boxers – cut loose John's bonds, and John tore the gag free from his mouth. Dean still couldn't meet his eyes. 

“You okay, Dad?” he asked him quietly, looking him directly in the center of his forehead.

John nodded, slowly. “Yeah, son,” he sighed. “Yeah, I am.”

There was a brief silence, before John looked up, forcing Dean to meet his gaze. “We don't ever talk about this again, you hear?”

The statement was blunt, and left no room for inquiry or argument. Somehow, it made Dean feel hollow, though he didn't know why. It wasn't like he wanted to relive this experience either.

Dean swallowed wetly. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” said John, getting to his feet with a grunt. “Now, get dressed. We're leaving, and we have a lot of work to do if we're gonna find the demon that killed your mother.”

Dean nodded slowly. He considered protesting that they should try again, that if they left now, the warlock was going to hurt more young men. But Dean knew it was useless. His father had already made up his mind.

Anyway, Dean could always go back here alone someday. He told himself it would just be to kill the warlock, though in his heart he knew it was something more.

This had awakened something in him. Something that would never fully go away. Maybe something that had been there all along.

Dean didn't say this, however.

“Yes, sir,” was all he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are my life, and kudos are lovely.


End file.
